Engineering the Circuit
by Berytni
Summary: Tina's heart began to sink deep into her chest, and that guilty feeling started to wrap itself around her throat once again. In a way, she'd never understand why Artie would want to take such a risk, but then again, she has always been able to walk.
1. Apples and Oranges

**A/N**: A few months ago, a graduate from Cornell came to a class of mine. He was a genetic engineer. The idea for this story has been in the back of my mind ever since Dream On, but I never really had the inspiration or knowledge to even begin to start it. However, during the engineer's lectures, I couldn't get the idea out of my head and even wrote ideas in the margins of my notebook, so I thought I'd give it a try. Enjoy!

_**Disclaimer**_: _This story is categorized under science __**fiction **__for a reason. I am by no means a doctor/scientist/etc.  


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**Subject: **__Clinical Trial._  
_**From: **__Dr. Darren Harper._  
_**To**__: Arthur Abrams._

_Good afternoon Mr. Abrams,_  
_I'm writing to you on the behalf of Dr. Ian Chang and Dr. Sally Miller of Ohio State University Hospital. As you probably know, the treatment for spinal cord injuries has been buzzing over the last decade, and there has finally been a potential break though that looks very promising. As of now, human candidates are needed that would willing to participate in a clinical trial. Although many successful tests with rats and other mammals have been conducted, our bodies sometimes react differently to the same conditioning, so in order to have this new treatment be on the market for public use, it has to be deemed safe for humans. Attached to this E-mail is the statement from Ohio State University. You've been a patient of mine for many years, and it's a lot to ask, but your type of injury is exactly what they're looking for – so if you're at all interested, give me a call and we'll set up an appointment to talk about your options._

_Darren Harper, M.D_  
_Lima General Hospital._  
_(419) 526-3912 ex. 4._

I couldn't believe the Times New Roman font before my eyes. It was like a page from the future in my packet of underdeveloped studies I had once researched for Artie so long ago…almost as if my sophomore self was being resurrected from the grave. Memories from the back of my mind started swimming though my nervous system, my favorites playing on a loop behind my eyes. However my older, and less naive, self stopped the sixteen-year-old within from getting too excited. Attempting to hide my mixed thoughts and feelings, I looked down at Artie. His pupils were dilated, and the surrounding space was glimmering with hope. However, I found it nearly impossible to hold my tongue.

"Artie…" I started.

"Isn't this great news?"

I sighed, "Artie."

"I mean…out of thousands of people…me. Tina, they want _me_."

"Artie, please let me talk," I said, placing the letter in his lap, and crouching down in front of him.

"Okay, sorry - go," he letting out his trapped air with a grin.

"Art, this is _amazing_ news…but,"

"But what?" He asked, burrowing his eyebrows behind the frames of his glasses. "Tina, this is what I…_we've_ been waiting for."

"Please hear me out," I said, placing my hands on his knees. "Artie, it's an _experiment._ That's what a clinical trial is."

"Yeah…so what?"

"_So_, it might not work. Something could go wrong."

"But they'll never know if it's never tested."

"But why does it have to be on _you_?"

"_Because, _Tina…I-I want to walk again."

I brought my shoulders up to my ears, and hung my head shamefully. He was making me feel like the bad guy…almost as if it were up to me; he'd never stand up out of that wheelchair again.

"I'm not asking your permission," Artie said softly. "But I'd like you to support my choice."

"You can't _honestly_ tell me that you've made a decision already."

"Tina, I'm meant to have this surgery. I can feel it."

I closed my eyes and sighed, "Can I at least think about it?"

He nodded his head twice.

I was tired from being on my feet all morning and afternoon as the sarcastic, hanging on to my job by a string, part-time waitress at Breadstix. To be fair, I hadn't been home five minutes when he shoved the print out into my hands. My feet hurt and I just wanted to lie down with a cup of tea and a good read. This wasn't something I could just decide with the snap of a finger like a decision in the grocery store between apples or oranges. Either way there, you'd still get fruit…but here it was the difference between making things better or inevitably worse.

The next time he brought up the topic, I mentioned my fruit analogy. He nodded along and pretended to understand, but I knew he was blinded by the empty promise of him walking again by a group of strangers with medical degrees and sharp fancy instruments. Artie respected my opinion, I knew that, but nothing I could say; no matter how right, was going to make him think rationally.

"You're not busy Saturday afternoon, are you?" Artie asked, pushing a pea in circles around his plate.

"No," I answered with a flirty smile. "Why?"

"Well," He started, pulling at his shirt collar. "I scheduled an appointment with Dr. Harper, and-"

"_What?_" I interrupted, quickly swallowing my mouthful of water so I wouldn't spit it out over dinner.

"Just for an informational meeting," he quickly added.

"I don't like this, Artie. I want more time to think about it."

"Any more time, and they'll choose someone else," he mumbled.

"Good," I said, under my breath. "Let someone else be experimented on like a lab rat."

"I just want more information," he calmly said, reaching for the top of my hand. "You're right, I'm jumping to quickly into this."

He really didn't believe that. If it were up to him, he'd be on the operating table the second that E-mail arrived in his inbox. Artie was just smart and knew my weakness was he admitting I was right.

I took a deep breath, "Fine. I'll go with you."

"Thank you, Tina. It means a lot."

"This doesn't mean I agree," I sternly said.

"I know," he said, turning my hand over, and pressing his palm to mine.

I looked down at our hands, took a deep breath, and slightly pressed the corners of my mouth against my cheeks, "Lets not talk about this again until Saturday, okay? I don't want to fight about it anymore."

Artie hesitated before closing his eyes and nodding in agreement. I squeezed his hand in appreciation before pushing away from the table to clear my plate. Passing by, I kissed the top of his head before making my way to the sink. Even over the running water, I heard him sigh, and from that simple exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide, I knew the next few days were going to be exhausting.


	2. In Spite of Me

**A/N: I couldn't tell if this was more fun or heartbreaking to write. Either way...hope you enjoy and thank you for reading!**

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To my surprise, Artie did a mighty fine job of keeping the topic of spinal cords to himself until Saturday. However, I probably should have been more specific, for he brought it up Saturday _morning_ before I could even get a sip of caffeine in me. I couldn't blame him though; the idea of mending the condition that was thought by many to be incurable in his lifetime excited him, and I'd be lying if I didn't feel the same way to a _certain_ extent.

Artie's doctor met us in the lobby of Lima General Hospital, where from there, he led Artie and me to his upstairs office. Dr. Darren Harper was a tall, sharp looking man, with thin metal-framed bifocal glasses, and dark hair. He walked in such a way that made his white coat flow, and everyone else around aware of his confidence as a doctor. I had a good impression from the few times we've met; however, as I followed Artie into his tiny office, I couldn't help but hold resentment against the man I barely knew for suggesting such a radical idea.

Dr. Harper extended his arm out to two chairs before circling behind his desk and taking a seat himself. I instinctively pushed one of the chairs out of the way to make room for Artie, and made sure he was settled before sitting on the edge of my chair defensively. Behind the doctor's head was a collection of plaques and certificates neatly hung on the wall. There were seven to be exact – I counted as Dr. Harper started his monologue about one of the procedures that was the grown-up version of the infancy I researched in high school.

From what I caught on, they wanted to extract cells from the surrounding area of Artie's injury, and grow them into a brand new segment of spinal cord. Once mature, the genetically engineered spinal cord segment would be surgically implanted. However, Dr. Harper was very vague on the process, and I couldn't tell if it was caused by his own ignorance or too much heart to express the reality.

"Now…if you choose to go though this, you'll need to set up an appointment at Ohio State; for not only legal work, but for tests to pass you for a candidate for the surgery," Dr. Harper said, linking his hands out over his desk calendar, covered in scribbles and highlighter strokes.

"Legal work?"

The doctor leaned forward, "Every surgery, even a routine one, carries some sort of risk…and especially because this is a _experimental_ procedure, both of you will have to sign papers saying that if something goes wrong, the hospital and its medical team can't be held accountable."

Artie nodded accordingly and I held my breath. It was finally said in the open; something could go wrong. Inside, I hoped Artie received that message, and that the little men in wheelchairs, hanging on for dear life, on his shoulders were having an open debate on the subject. However, the same light remained in his eyes, so I had my doubts.

My steel bridge of an opinion seemed to be sturdy over the rapid river topic of the surgery. However, after an old find in the back of my disaster of a closet, acid rain began to drizzle down on the once flawless steel. Originally, I had been on a mission to find a particular shirt, but underneath the layers of both clean and dirty clothes, thrown around the room hastily, was a box. The box was black with its length larger than its width, and although it seemed familiar, I couldn't remember where or when we had once met before. I reached out for the box before sitting back on my feet and securing it in my lap. A thin layer of dust clouded off when I slowly wiped my hand across the surface.

After flipping the lid over with my left pointer finger, I brought the corresponding hand up to cover my mouth. Struck with nostalgia, quick as lightning, I scooped up the size ten and a half mens tap shoes and held them out in front of me. The metal bottoms clanked together as I adjusted them in my hands.

_I'm gonna dance one day, you know._

My heart began to sink deep into my chest, and that guilty feeling started to wrap itself around my throat once again. In a way, I'd never understand why he would want to take such a risk – all my life I've been physically capable of doing whatever I pleased. Putting myself in his shoes, or more so holding them in the palms of my hands, gave me a new point of view, but even so - I still couldn't convince myself into being okay with the choice he was making.

That night, while Artie was religiously lounged out on the couch in front of the television, I snuck back to our bedroom for a phone call after copying the familiar number I desired, and once knew by heart, onto a sticky note. I needed an outside opinion…one from someone who loved and cared for Artie as much as I did, from the woman who raised him though thick and thin – his mother.

From the background noise that traveled into my ear over the phone, it almost seemed like Catherine Abrams had dropped everything to pick up the phone – a clear indicator that she was expecting her boy, not me. As I was not a frequent caller, the paranoid woman jumped to conclusion that something was wrong with her son, and as tempting as it was dryly tell her that there was, I negated her hypothesis. Instead, hoping that Artie came to her about the surgery as well, I told her my troubles.

"I told him what I thought," Artie's mother responded with a sigh. "But I couldn't tell him no."

"W-why not?"

"Because when the little boy you put in a wheelchair comes to you as an adult about corrective surgery to fix what you broke…you can't deny him that opportunity."

"He's going though with it no matter what I say," I sighed after a pause.

"It's not about us."

"I know, but-"

"All we can do is support him no matter what happens, and pray to God that nothing does," she said. "He's a dreamer, Tina…we have no choice but to let him dream."

After the phone conference with Artie's mother, I crawled across the queen-sized mattress, and plopped down on my side of the bed in an almost fetal position. Feeling like crying out of frustration, I closed my eyes and sighed. I just didn't know what to think anymore.

There was soft tap at the door.

I picked up my head briefly, wiping away the adolescent tears from my ducts, "It's open."

"You feeling okay?" Artie asked, closing the door behind him with a furrowed brow after one look at me.

I shrugged, "just tired, I guess."

"Rough day?" He asked, circling around the bed to his side.

"You could say that," I sighed.

Artie parked himself adjacent to the edge of the bed before locking his chair, and transferring to the surface. I remained with my back towards him as he adjusted his body parallel to mine. From over my shoulder, I watched him reach his arm out towards me. The veins that twisted around his arm extended though his fingertips for me, and the strong bicep looked eager to constrict, however, I looked away and held my own arms against my chest.

"No cuddles?" He asked in a pathetic voice.

"Not in the mood," I quickly responded.

"A-are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine."

"Artie, please leave me alone."

"Why won't you tell me what's wrong?"

"Because you're the problem," I snapped, rolling onto my back. "You and that stupid surgery."

"That _stupid surgery_ is going to make me walk someday."

"No. No it's not. Why can't you see that?" I asked, sitting up. "All we're going to be left with are medical bills that we'll never be able to pay off…_if_ we're even that lucky."

"You don't even know what you're talking about, Tina, I'm getting paid to go though with this. You'd know that if you weren't trapped in your bubble of resentment. We could finally get married, buy a house…get out of this tiny apartment-"

"Not if you're dead," I choked. "_We_ can't get married, buy a house, raise a family – _whatever, _if they make a tiny mistake and _kill you_."

"Why do you have to talk like that?" He snarled, sitting up and angling his arms back for support.

"Because it's the _reality_. Why can't you see that?"

"Because you're wrong."

"I'm done, Artie_. _I'm so…done._" _I yelled on the verge of tears, standing up off the bed, and making my way towards the door. "_Die alone for all I care_."

I regretted saying what I did the second I came to terms with it. However, that was half way down the hall, and there was too much adrenaline and furry coursing though my veins to turn back. Instead, I collapsed on to the three-cushioned couch that faced the far wall, and brought my hands up to cover my damp face. The micro fiber material beneath me was still vaguely warm from the last lounger, and the fleece throw that usually hung neatly over the back of the couch, was ruffled from armrest to armrest. Pealing my hands from my face, I bunched up a section of the blanket in my arms, and buried my face into the soft cloth.

"T-Tina?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, holding the blanket closer to my chest, as the familiar rattle of Artie's wheelchair became more prominent in my eardrums.

"Tina?" he called again.

"Go away," I choked – my voice muffled by the throw.

"C-can we talk?" he sighed.

"No. I refuse to talk about it anymore, Artie."

"I meant about us."

I uncovered a portion of my face, looking up at his stone cold expression. "Oh Artie…I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean it," I sobbed, hiding my face once again.

"I know," He said, taking a deep and hollow breath.

"I-I don't know what came over me," I sniffed.

Artie remained quiet – too quiet. It scared me that he didn't acknowledge my apology. Instead he just sat there, looking down into his lap where he discretely twisted his fingers.

"Maybe…I should cancel that meeting at Ohio State," Artie sighed, looking up over the rims of his glasses.

"W-why?"

"Because it's tearing us apart, Tina," he exclaimed. "Look at us."

"I can't…I can't ask that of you."

"_But it's what you want._"

"But it's not what _you_ want," I said, pushing myself up with my arms into a semi vertical position.

"Say what you will, Tina, but I _know_ you think it's a terrible idea."

"It scares me ruthless," I admitted with a sigh.

"Then it's settled," Artie said swiping a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "Tomorrow I'll call Ohio State and withdraw myself from the program."

I pressed my lips together, closed my eyes, and nodded. Although I was getting my way, the self-satisfaction and relief I was feeling was empty. The guilt in my chest made it perfectly clear that Artie didn't change his mind because he wanted to. However, I told myself to count my blessings.


	3. Set Fire to the Rain

**A/N: Today's a good day. I finished this chapter, it's my birthday, _and_ the start of my spring break. Thank you for reading, and maybe I'll see you all again sooner than expected with my time off. Enjoy!  
**

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I woke up the following morning with our long rectangular coffee table at eye level – the same landscape I nodded off to with the exception of the morning light coming in from the east-wall picture window. My left forearm hung at an angle off the edge of the couch with the attached hand dangling in thin air. All of the blood had pooled in my fingertips, so when I stretched out my hand, a tingling sensation ran up my entire limb.

There were two arms around my middle, causing my side to arc slightly. Both of them had my shirt innocently pushed up to my middle so that Artie's pale forearms crossed in front of my tan belly. His chest moved up and down behind me. With every rhythmic exhale, warm air traveled calmly around the back of my neck. Looking over my shoulder, I found two baby blue, puppy-dog eyes staring back at me. The corners of his mouth angled upwards as he blinked slowly.

"Good morning," he greeted in a low and sleepy voice.

"Morning," I yawned, turning my shoulders counter clockwise before stretching my left arm over the end of the couch.

Artie's tiny grin widened as he repositioned his arms around my torso. Lifting his head up over mine, and shallowly swooping his bottom lip, he sweetly pecked my lips. He then settled back down, nuzzling his face into the nook of my neck. When he blinked, his eyelashes tickled my skin.

"I missed our cuddles," he pouted, looking up at me.

After our visit with Dr. Harper, I was everything but outgoing about our long-term relationship. The night before had been a perfect example of how much I ignored Artie in hope of avoiding his topic of choice and my topic of dread.

"Sorry," I said, looking down out of the corners of my eyes.

"I understand," he whispered, tightening his arms around me. "And that's why I chose you over a few centimeters of nerve tissue."

I smiled and turned my head, "You are _such_ a cheese ball."

"You love it."

"Who says?"

"Me!" He said pressing light kisses to my neck.

"Artie stop that, "I giggled with a squirm. "You're all scruffy. That tickles!"

"Sorry," he chuckled, returning his jaw on my shoulder.

With a tiny grin, I shifted to the opposite side then I woke up on to face him, and Artie once again closed his arms around me enough to crumple my shirt. From his tight hold, I wiggled my arms out, and molded my hands over his defined chest. The tips of our noses touched before I slide my hands up his chest up and around the side of his neck. Tilting my head acutely right, I slowly closed my eyes as I brushed my lips against his. After pulling back an inch, his face came forward after mine, and captured my lips completely. As our kiss increased in depth and passion, I looped my arms around his neck, crossing my forearms against the top of his spine. Bending my knees, I sifted down the length of the couch to meet his exact position. My tongue, like a serpent, slithered past his parted lips until it found its mate on the other side. Encouraged by my addition to the kiss, Artie ran his hand down the curve of my hip. He took a breath of air as he slid the same hand behind my thigh, and started to gently pull towards himself. To speed up the process, I manually hooked my calf around his hip, bringing our pelvises together.

"Roll over," I breathed between kisses.

Nodding slightly, Artie turned his shoulders, and I took care of his lower half by wedging my knee between him and the back of the couch so when I rolled, his hips moved with me. Once he was situated, I laid my torso down onto his from my straddle, and reunited our lips. Things quickly heated up, and I subconsciously found myself circling my hips intimately against his. My body definitely liked where this was going. With a suggestive smirk, I sat up, and started to bring my hair up into a loose bun. Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at the analog clock over the sink, and stopped everything once I saw what time it was.

"Artie…I gotta go," I quickly said, placing my hands on his over heated stomach.

"_What_? Why? No!"

"Work. I have to be at work in ten minutes."

"You really can't stay just…a _few_ minutes longer?"

I shook my head, swinging my inner leg over his thighs before placing both feet on the hardwood floor. I felt extra bad, seeing the extra slope in his pants.

"I'm sorry."

"It's…fine," he sighed, partially sitting up. "Here, you go get ready – I'll start a pot of coffee for the go."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," I said, bending at the waist to kiss his forehead. "I promise we'll finish this later."

Artie nodded me off, and I quickly trotted back to our bedroom to find a quick change of clothes suitable to put a Breadstix apron over and apply a layer of makeup. Even if I hated standing around on my feet all day, taking orders, it was a job, and apartments were expensive.

Speed walking out the bedroom door as fast as I entered it, I took a second try at styling my hair out of my face. With a hair-band dangling from my mouth, I waked into the kitchen as I tangled my fingers though my hair. The coffee maker was running, and my favorite aroma of vanilla coffee filled the kitchen. I stood in the doorway and adjusted my hair until it felt secure before looking up before me. Artie sat in front of the counter before the open cabinet that was well above his head, with his right arm extended in the air. I bit my lip, intending to intervene, but my over-thinking head stopped me. These were his every day struggles, and they varied every day, for our apartment was close to the furthest thing from wheelchair friendly. Heck, we nearly had to sue our tenant for not wanting safe bathroom fixtures to be installed.

"Hey, Tee?" He called, probably not realizing I was ten feet behind him.

"What? Oh…sorry." I said, snapping out of trance and stepping forward to reach overhead for the colorful travel mug.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine," I said, quickly walking around him to pour my coffee.

_What if him not going though with the treatment prevented him from over coming every obstacle he's ever encountered in the wheelchair despite the risks?_

I closed my eyes and sighed once my warm mug was capped, "Have you called Ohio State yet?"

"Woman, give me time."

"Don't."

"Oh, right, sorry I forgot you don't like-"

"No," I said, shaking my head and crossing my arms. "Don't call."

"_What?_"

"Don't call. Don't call the university."

"But that would mean…"

"I know."

"Tina, I don't understand," he said, furrowing his brows.

"It'll make you happy, and as wary as I am…that will make me happy," I said crouching down to his eye level.

"Tina…"

"You're going to walk again," I said, looking into his eyes, struggling to form a smile.

"I-I'm going to walk again," he softly repeated.


	4. Percy

**A/N: This chapter really brings out my inner medical research geek and hints at my love for the book, _Flowers for Algernon_, which was one of my inspirations for this story. Enjoy!  
**

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Artie kept to his word about not calling Ohio State to cancel his appointment to talk about the procedure with the people actually behind it, and I kept my word about 'finishing this later', so everything was okay in our little neck of the woods. However, when the day came to take the eighty-two mile trip a quarter across Ohio, I became nervous. My decision was made about the procedure, and what kind of person would I be to go back on my word after all of our drama, but I still feared the unknown.

When we started living together, Artie's family generously handed over the family van with all the fixtures that made traveling with a person in a wheelchair safer and easier for everyone involved. From then on, the removable passenger seat lived in the trunk with all of the spare blankets and emergency supplies.

"All set?" I asked as I watched him fasten the fourth Q-straint around the frame of his wheelchair.

"All cargo is secure and ready for takeoff," he confirmed, sitting up straight, and saluting.

I stared at him from the corners of my eyes before giggling to myself, shaking my head as I shifted the car into reverse.

We drove in silence for the most part with the exception of Artie sweetly humming along to whatever came on the radio. Sometimes if it was a song I knew well, I'd peak in sometimes with a harmony. Life of an Alto.

Ohio State University Hospital, or Medical Center according to the stainless steel lettering atop the main building, was a bigger looking hospital than I was used to. Just from the outside, it looked at least twice the size of Lima General. As I drove though the campus filled with grass plots and brick sidewalks, I began to feel almost intimidated.

The interior didn't make me feel any better. The waiting room, where Artie was asked to fill out a stack of paper work, was cluttered with sick and injured people and their families. As I sat in one of the gray plastic chairs provided, Artie arranged his wheelchair at angle next to me, for all of the end seats were taken. I watched him fill out the forms, and answered the questions in my head as he scribbled them down in pen. When my nerves started to get to me, I leaned forward and slipped my hand around his bicep as he wrote. The muscles beneath my fingertips that contracted with every shift of his pen came to a sudden stop.

"You okay?" he asked, laying the clipboard flat in his lap.

I nodded with half a smile, squeezing his arm.

"I'm a little nervous too," he whispered. Stretching the arm I had my hand around out towards me, he rested his hand, palm up on my knee. With almost a full smile, I retracted my hand from his bicep and laced my fingers between his.

Artie turned to the next page on the clipboard and continued writing with his opposite hand. Not long after, a man and a woman approached us. The man was of Asian decent with dark hair and almost shaped eyes. He was a tall and lean man with a white coat and circles under his eyes. The woman was dressed in more of a casual appeal, black pants and a light blue button down shirt that was cuffed at her elbows. She was a pale woman with a pretty face and red hair that was evenly cut a little below her shoulders. They walked side by side, and once they were close enough, I was able to make out the words on the man's plastic name tag that was clipped to his breast pocked; _Dr. Ian Chang. Neurology. _

"Arthur Abrams?" The man asked, stopping before us.

"Call me Artie," he politely requested with a nod.

"Hello, Artie," he said holding out his hand. "My name's Dr. Ian Chang and I'm head of the neurology department here at Ohio State, and this is my college, Dr. Sally Miller who is the brains of the trial."

"Nice to meet you," he said, shaking their hands one after another.

"How about we take this upstairs," Dr. Miller said to Dr. Chang "Percy's in my office"

"Of course. Artie, if you'll just follow me…"

"_Wait_," Artie said, not moving an inch and squeezing my hand.

"This is my girlfriend, Tina. We've been together since high school and she's really scared about this whole thing. She deserves to know what's going on too," Artie rambled. "Can she come too?"

The doctors exchanged glances. "I don't see why not."

Artie took awake his hand to operate his wheelchair behind the two doctors. I walked beside him, and while no one else was looking, I bent at the waist and pecked his freshly shaved cheek. He looked up at me with his curled upper-lipped smile and turned inwards to nudge me with his chair. Some things never change.

We were led to the office of Dr. Miller. The walls had a blue vertical striped wallpaper pattern, and all of the furniture was dark oak. On the heating system against the three open windows that faced the courtyard was an orchid plant sunbathing. On her desk were a couple picture frames, a laptop, a three-ring binder stuffed with papers, and a cage fit for a small rodent.

Dr. Miller extended her am out to a few chair, and I sat down accordingly. She took the binder off her desk and placed it in Artie's lap before explaining the procedure in greater detail. Until the surgery itself to engineer the circuit in his spinal cord, Artie was going to be put on a medication with Chrondroitinase, an enzyme, as the main ingredient to partially remove the scar tissue over time from his initial injury, and keep it away until the new portion of spinal cord is mature enough to be inserted. Vitamin B12 was also recommended. Another appointment had to be scheduled to take cells from his spinal cord to be grown in a laboratory into a mold called a scaffold. It seemed so simple, yet so complicated at the same time, but Artie seemed to understand enough to nod along as he flipped though the binder in his lap.

"Artie, I want you to meet Percy," Dr. Miller said standing up, and walking over to her desk to the cage. "This little guy was one of our first successful attempts at the procedure."

Percy was a white rat with brownish-black patches, and was asleep in the corner of his little enclosed home with his pink tail curled around his body. Compared to the rat I once found in the bathtub of the house I grew up in, this one seemed pretty tame. Almost, dare I say, cute?

"Successful trials were also done on dogs, rabbits, and chimpanzees, but Percy lives with me, and was an easier specimen to bring into work as a living, breathing example."

"I'm sure he's not very good with the rent," Artie joked.

"So it _is_ safe," I peeped, covering up Artie's word vomit.

"That's what we want to find out. If everything goes well, and we can get Artie here walking again, the approach to treating spinal cord injuries will be changed forever."

"I-I'm in," Artie softly said.

"Are you sure, Art?" I asked. He shot me a glance. "I'm just asking."

"I'm sure. If it can't help me…it'll be the start to helping other people."


	5. Life's Like an Hourglass

The mornings where neither Artie nor I had to leave early for work were my favorite. Cuddled beneath the sheets, I didn't have to fake a cheery and positive attitude – and I certainly didn't have the urge to spit into someone's linguini. Between the drives back and forth to Ohio State, the bills that needed to be paid, and the jobs that provided the money possible to do both, I needed such a morning.

Keeping my eyes closed, I rolled from my usual sleeping position onto my opposite side. I nudged myself across the bed until my cheek touched the surface of Artie's pillow. The tip of my nose searched for his face, however there was nothing but air. I opened my eyes and sleepily looked around the perimeter of our bed, but no Artie. Curling my fingers around the side of the bed, I quickly looked over the edge to make sure he hadn't fallen and knocked himself unconscious. Luckily, the only things to be seen were hardwood flooring and sheep skin slippers.

And so, rolling out of bed, I set off on my quest to find my missing morning cuddle partner. He was a grown man; I wasn't concerned about his whereabouts…but I missed him. Over my silky pink and black cami set, I threw on the bulky blue mens robe that I had adopted into my wardrobe before flattening down my bed hair in the mirror. The left over make up that I had neglected the night before was smeared around my eyes, but I looked decent enough to walk around the apartment.

As I made my way down the hallway, I tightened the robe around my waist and twisted it into a loose knot to keep the two halves closed and the warmth inside. The bathroom door was open, and the lights were off, thus narrowing down Artie's whereabouts. Passing the lifeless kitchen, I made my way into the living room. A table lap dimly lit the area, and a think head of brown hair rested on the arm of the couch.

"I don't remember putting you out here," I lightheartedly commended, coming up behind the couch and piling my forearms on the edge.

From his plaid blanketed side, he rolled onto the back of his shoulders, and looked up at me with a pitiful look. The color was washed from his cheeks and transfused into the whites of his lazily opened eyes.

"Artie?" I called with concern as I pushed myself around to the other side of the couch where he lied.

"I don't feel good," he croaked, holding the blanket around his torso tightly as he shook violently. Tucking the robe under me, I sat down on the edge of the couch, and cleared away his bangs before pressing the back of my hand against his forehead.

"Poor thing," I sympathized after bringing my hand back into my lap from his overheated skin. "Can I get you anything?"

Artie shook his head and folded the blanket down from his neck from his stomach. Continuing to convulse, he reached an arm out to gently tug at my hand.

"What is it, honey?" I asked, bending at the waist to ease myself closer. He took his arm back and shifted to his left side so that his back rested against the wall of the couch.

"You want me to lay with you?"

Closing his blood shot eyes, he faintly nodded. I adjusted halves of the robe around me once again before bending my knees to pull my legs up on the couch next to his. Once I was settled on my right side next to him, he slid down the couch, and pressed his warm forehead against my chest. His whole body shook against me, and his breaths shuttered along with the shaking. Being closer to his face made me realize how red his eyes were…almost as if he was an extra on the set of a horror movie and had to wear colored contacts. It scared me. He was really sick.

By noon, probably on account of shaking all morning, Artie was worn out. Once I was sure he was asleep, I started to follow out my internal plan to take a bathroom break and fix myself something to eat quickly enough so Artie wouldn't wake up and find me gone. I replaced my chest with a pillow under his heavy head before sitting up and swinging my legs over the edge of the couch. Maybe I'd get him a blanket from our bed while I was up…and maybe dig out the thermometer too for good measure.

Suddenly, a warm hand reached out and gripped my forearm. With a jump, a gasp, and a hand to my chest, I looked back at Artie. He sunk into the couch and puffed out his lower lip in apology.

"It's okay…you surprised me, that's all," I said.

"Don't go," he mumbled, tightening his shaky grip.

"I'm not going anywhere," I assured, shaking my head. "Just the bathroom and maybe a few other stops along the way."

After one more squeeze and a nod, he retracted his arm back under the blanket.

"Need anything while I'm up?"

"My prescription?" he softly requested.

"Of course, Art. I'll be right back…I promise."

After emptying my bladder and washing my face, I continued down the hallway to our bedroom. Artie's preparation medication, as I called it, sat on top of the current read on his nightstand. The orange bottle was filled half way with little white pills, and the label around the cylinder stated Artie's medical information and dosing instructions. I held the bottle in front of my face as I gathered the top blanket from our bed under my arm, reading the tiny print. There were side effects noted under his name and address, but none of them matched up to Artie's symptoms. Unlike my original hypothesis, it wasn't the medication that was making him sick.

With my desired items in possession, I returned to the living room. Artie was asleep once again. Being careful not to wake up, I laid the extra blanket over his body, but he had already stopped shaking. In fact…he wasn't moving at all. Quickly putting down the pills, and the glass of water I had picked up for him on the way back, on the coffee table I went to sit back down on the couch.

"Artie?" I called, tapping his shoulder. "Arthur, this isn't funny."

Nothing.

"A-Artie?"


	6. Wait and See

**A/N: Was leaving on a cliffhanger cruel? Maybe - but hey...at least you find out what happens _now_, right? Enjoy and thank you for reading!  
**

* * *

I was in a sudden panic. My heart was beating three times its normal rate, and my pores were oozing with salty fear, but somehow I stayed able-headed enough to refrain from blanking out. The 'what to do in an emergency' preaching from my childhood came flooding back, and it wasn't long until I sprinted across the apartment as fast as my little legs could get me there.

From the kitchen, I dialed the widely known three-digit number to request an ambulance, a doctor, a dentist – anything that could provide assistance and make Artie okay. I paced around the kitchen, listening to the operator's instructions to stay calm and his guarantees that help was on the way. Every few seconds, I looked around the corner at the still man on the couch, waiting for him just to perk up and say, "There's nothing to worry about, teapot. I'm okay", but no such thing happened.

When I got off the phone with the cool-toned operator, I returned to my previous place on the edge of the couch with Artie. Bringing my right pointer and middle finger to the left side of his neck, I felt for a pulse. To my relief, a rhythmic and strong beat throbbed beneath the pads of my fingertips. I looked down. His chest was moving…even if I swore it hadn't fifteen minutes prior.

Afraid that I may have overreacted and called 911 for no reason but my observation deficiency, I once again tried to wake Artie. However, _like_ before, neither my touch nor voice could regain his consciousness. Either way, something was very wrong.

Keeping a close eye my deep sleeper, I remained in the living room until there was a knock on the door. I jumped to my feet accordingly, opened the door, and in rushed a small mix of men and women wearing navy blue scrubs with white embroidery on the breasts.

I kept to myself and out of the way. They threw questions at me, particularly the blonde woman with her mane pulled to the nape of her neck that was secured with a black elastic band. I responded as thoroughly as I could in a quiet, shy, and fearful voice as I periodically brushed stray hair behind my ears.

They couldn't wake him either.

Our neighbors were clustered outside their doors, all with a combination of morbid and worrisome thoughts written on their faces. I had to avoid their gaze for my own sanity as I followed a total of four people, including the one on the stretcher, into the elevator. So badly, I wanted to hold his hand to feel his warmth and life, so I could tell myself that he was going to be okay. He had to be okay.

I had never been in an ambulance before. As a kid, I was pretty lucky, and my worst injuries were cuts and scrapes. Artie was a different story. I remembered when he first told me the story, or as much as he could remember, of the accident that left him paralyzed. How scared he was. Sure, he was a grown man, but I could easily imagine his terrified eight-year-old self coming out if he were to wake up in the back of an ambulance, surrounded by strangers, and not remembering how in the world he got there. Sitting in the front with the concentrated driver as he defined road rules, I became anxious to know what was going on behind me. I had so many questions, and none of there were going to be answered promptly.

In the Lima General Hospital waiting room, I stalled on calling Artie's family, or even mine, until I had more information to share and something behind me to answer questions with. To keep my mind off the drama, I read through the selection of magazines available – all of which were out of date and completely irrelevant to my life. Neither was I a parent or a bride to be…yet.

I hadn't expected an immediate diagnosis, but I sure wasn't prepared for the two hours it took for a staff member to come down and talk to me. To my luck, it was the familiar face of Dr. Harper.

"He's awake now if you'd like to see him."

"Dr. Harper…what's wrong…what happened?" I asked, standing up from my chair to see the tall man's face clearer.

"We're not really sure, Tina," he answered. My heart sank into my chest. "My first guess would be the medication he's on. It seems that he had a severe allergic reaction to one of the ingredients that caused his blood Ph to spike."

"But….he's going to be okay, right?"

The doctor nodded, "We were able to neutralize just in time. Acidosis can be deadly if not treated quickly enough."

"Oh."

"But enough of that. He requests your presence."

Dr. Harper led me through the hospital and up to the third floor. Twisting through the corridors, we came to a large and enclosed room with blue curtains weaved around hospital beds. I followed close behind Dr. Harper until he stopped at one of the fabric walls, and slid it open like a shower curtain.

Artie was propped up in bed in a plain patterned white cotton gown. A few thin blankets were layered over his lap. From his left forearm, a tube hung extended up to a large plastic bag on a rack that was next to the bed. His pale, but healthy, complexion had returned, and the whites of his eyes only contained fragments of light pink. With a naked face, he smiled as I walked deeper into the room. Holding my hands in front of my groin, I looked back at Dr. Harper in the doorway.

"I'll come back later," he nodded.

Once the curtain was closed, I walked up to the edge of the bed and scooped my hand under his before taking a seat. Artie squeezed my fingers and I rubbed the top of his veiny hand with my thumb.

"I understand now," he softly said, breaking the silence.

"Understand what, Artie?" I asked.

"Why you were so guarded about getting involved with this trial. You were right. It's an experiment."

"Artie, they didn't know that you were going to have an allergic reaction…"

"_And now you're defending it."_

Looking down, I sighed and squeezed Artie's hand before pulling my own away. The look on his face exerted regret, and he bit his lip, ready to apologize for snapping at me. However, I brought my legs up and scooted back against the pillows, turning on to my side to face him. Resting my head on his shoulder, I wrapped my arms around his weaker than normal bicep.

"Does this mean you want to pull out of the program?" I asked, looking up at him.

"I-I don't know," Artie responded, shaking his head.

"It's okay if you do," I said, placing a hand on his chest. "I love you the way you are. Y-you don't have to change for me."

"Thanks, Tina," He said, smiling slightly. "But I don't even know if continuing is an option anymore."

"Why?"

"If I'm really allergic to the medication…"

"Oh."

"So we'll just have to wait and see."


	7. Poker Face

**A/N: Please excuse how short this chapter is. I've been super busy with school and my art, and this is what I've been able to get done between all of that. More to come soon next chapter, and maybe another story is brewing. We'll see. Thanks for reading!  
**

* * *

Once Artie was stable, and his body wasn't armed for another attack on his health, he was transferred to Ohio State for further investigation. This meant that instead of my fifteen minute drive back and forth to Lima General, a sixth of my day was to be spent driving North through a quarter of Ohio. Let me tell you – it was a lonely and un-scenic drive, and if it weren't for the man I loved, it wouldn't have happened at all.

All of my time spent transferring back and forth cut down on my work hours, giving my boss another possible reason to fire me. I scraped by guilt tripping my fellow co-workers to cover for me with the 'my boyfriend's in the hospital and…' speech. Worked every time – especially on the one's who've met Artie before. Maybe if the pay out from the trail was big enough, I'd be able to quit my, just barely over minimum wage, job.

It took two weeks for the 'geniuses' at Ohio to figure out what the problem was, the one that made him so sick. Artie wasn't allergic to the scar tissue removal medicine, but the particular filler used in the pill. The allergic reaction could be counteracted with yet another prescription, so Artie could continue with the procedure. The prodding, poking, and blood work could finally come to an end. Although; I was waiting for his circulatory system to fail first on the account of the amount of blood taken from his veins for testing.

"Is it going to be like this the next couple years, Tina?" Artie asked me one afternoon during visiting hours.

He was awake and erect in a room of his own, unlike his brief stay at Lima General. The walls were a tint of blue away from white, and under the small picture window, curtained as cheaply as possible, was an air conditioner that blasted air cold enough to create ridged tiny bumps on his skin. Even below the waist.

I squeezed his hand as I leaned in from my plastic waiting room chair, "Like what?"

"Me being here," he slouched.

"It's not so bad," I shrugged.

"You hate it."

"I don't."

"Come on, Tee – it sucks."

I responded with another shrug, wondering how long I could keep up my 'I have to stay strong for him' ordeal.

"You don't miss me at home?" He playfully pouted.

"No," I answered with as much of a poker face as I could handle with such a lie.

His cute and pretend sad face suddenly turned all too real.

"Oh Artie, I'm only kidding," I reassured, pulling myself up onto the edge of his bead before leaning forward to kiss his forehead. "Of course I miss you."

"You're not just saying that now?"

"I'm not just saying that now, Artie," I said, smoothing down his hair.

Bringing my hands into my lap, I made the impulsive decision to try and sit over his lap for a cuddle. Briefly, I stood up only to sit back down in the opposite direction before swinging my legs over his thighs so that my feet touched the other side of his pelvic bone. I then wrapped my arms around his neck and rested my knees against his chest.

"Actually, I miss you a lot at home. Our apartment is really empty at night without you," I admitted.

"_That_ little thing?"

"It may be overwhelming for the two of us – but it's much too big for just one."

"Uh-huh."

"I need my big, strong, super human strength-ed boyfriend to keep me safe from the cockroaches," I pouted.

"Isn't that redundant?"

"Shut up," I giggled, burying my face into his neck.

That day happened to be the date for Artie to have the brief procedure to extract cells from his spinal cord to be grown in a lab across the country in California. He wasn't nervous – not one bit, and I guess I wasn't either, but for me, it marked the true start of the whole process of attempting to get Artie to walk again. It was all becoming so real. Never in my life, I thought I'd see or even hear about the day where spinal cord research and development would come so far. It made my inner teenager beyond proud.


	8. Security Blanket

**A/N: I'm alive! Last week was crazy for me, so writing was a bit out of the question. Now about the chapter, it was so hard not to...well...let's just say that I'm too lazy to change the rating of the story, okay? Ahaha.  
**

* * *

After the routine procedure to remove cells for growth, Artie was able to return home after a couple days of post-op bed rest. He followed me into our apartment with a happy 'home sweet home' kind of sigh, a plastic band around his left wrist, and bandages around his middle to keep the small incision down the already scarred middle of his back clean. I had really missed his wheelchair bound self. Like when I found a dead baby mouse under our bed, or when the lesbian couple next door got really frisky and I could vaguely hear then though the walls, as I lay in bed alone with the exception of a book. In the hospital, the most I could do was kiss him – maybe, and in the most literal and innocent sense possible, the nurses would get mad when they caught me in bed with him.

Artie closed the door, and I reached above his head to bolt it before walking over to the counter to safely put away my keys. I turned around, and he remained in front of the doorway with his hands atop the big wheels on the side of his chair. With a hop, skip, and a jump, I hurtled myself into his lap – my force causing the back of his wheelchair to thump against the front door. Not long after landing, I attacked his lips and adjusted my legs around his thighs.

"Tina, my back...be careful," he scolded.

I pulled my face away immediately and gathered my hands around his face in a protective manor. "Oh, my God – Artie I'm sorry. I forgot. Are you okay? I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he responded with a grim tone.

I plopped my hands into my lap, and sat back on the top of his knees – my legs remaining split over his lap. Looking down though the corners of my eyes, I avoided his less than happy gaze.

"Sorry," I muttered in a second attempt to reconcile.

A thick gulp came from his throat and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down in remorse, "Tina, I-"

"No…you're right…I-I'm thoughtless and stupid and-"

Artie immediately shushed me and tilted my chain upwards with his left index finger. However, I continued to hide my eyes. My habit of crying over minuscule things was one I never could kick. Leaning forward, he sweetly pecked my lips – shallowly swooping his bottom lips under mine. Artie then pulled away and cupped one of my flushed cheeks in his calloused hand.

"I love you."

I sniffed and nodded quickly.

"Do you still love me?"

"Of course I do," I sniffed again, wiping my eyes, as I picked up my head to its default angle.

Artie leaned in once more to brush his lips against mine, and this time I kissed him back for the brief time he lingered. Warping my arms around his neck, I sat up straight to press my bare forehead to his covered with side swept brown hair. He smiled and brought his hands under my thighs to pull me closer so that the inside of my thighs touched his hip bones and my knees pressed against the back of his chair. I trailed my hands down his chest, angled my head, and quickly captured his lips. These kisses were different than the sweet and tame ones we shared mere minutes before. Separation makes the heart grow fonder.

We kissed, on and off between tender, romantic, and wild, in front of the doorway, putting on a show for both the living room and kitchen until the area between my legs felt warm and tingly. Soon we were moving. Artie removed his hands from my legs and instead paid attention to the wheels of his chair. I kissed down his neck and pulled the collar of his shirt to the side to suck at the base where collarbone met shoulder so he could see.

Once at his desired destination, I crawled off his lap and hurdled onto my side of the bed. Holding my torso up with my forearms, I subconsciously arranged my legs in a taunting and seductive manor, waiting for him. Artie pulled himself onto the bed, rolled onto his stomach, and dragged himself on top of me and between my thighs. My ankles locked behind him accordingly.

It was a weird thing to admit to anyone but myself, but I adored when he lay on top of me and how his body would simply cover mine like a security blanket. However, as nice as he felt between my thighs and on top of my torso, nothing could be accomplished besides osculation and PG-13 rated fondling. Tightening my legs around his hips and bracing my hands against his shoulders, I physically reversed our rolls with an adrenaline-powered flip.

Artie's stomach tightened, his back arched upon impact. I opened my eyes briefly with a smirk, but when I saw his face contorted with pain, my protective instincts took over every desiring hormone in my body. Straightening my arms and pressing the palms of my hands against the bed, I took most of my weight off his torso.

"Art?"

"I-I'm fine, Tee…my back's just a little sore," he assured.

"Arthur, if you're in pain, _tell me_," I ordered, stroking his cheek.

He sighed, closed his eyes, and nodded shamefully. In return, I carefully dismounted his lap and landed on his side of the bed. Using only his arms and abdominal muscles, Artie transferred onto his side. To help his balance, I instinctively reached my hand out to align his hip and legs with his torso, in which he smiled thankfully, but in almost a resentful way. Lying on my own side, facing him, I bunched his flat and lifeless pillow under my head.

"I'm sorry, Tina," he said, covering his baby blues with the pads of his fingertips.

I took a hold of his wrists; pulled his hands away from his face, and made him look at me, "Don't worry about it."

"But I _miss you_."

"I know. I _miss_ you too," I said. "But let's just cuddle. You're home. I want you to feel safe, not pain. We have time."

"I guess."

Artie had always been sexually insecure. Whenever something didn't go as planned, he would always blame his disability – even if he didn't necessarily vocalize it to me. I tried to make him realize that I loved him the way he was, and sometimes he listened, but often it would work to no avail. Sometimes I wondered if it was one of the reasons he wanted to change so much – as if he _didn't feel good enough for me. _


	9. Never Leave Your Heart Alone

**A/N: It's still Friday. I'm still on time. Kinda. I probably wrote 95% of this today when I should have been studying/sleeping for SATs, but it was worth it. Enjoy! I'm off to sleep now.  
**

* * *

It takes human hair twelve weeks to grow four centimeters. It takes grass four weeks to grow the same amount. However, four centimeters of spinal cord took just over eight months to mature into usable material. For those fifty-two weeks, things were considerably normal for Artie and me, compared to the months prior. In the span from the colder end of September though May, where wild flowers would pop up in vacant lots, we celebrated our anniversary, Christmas, Valentines Day, and my birthday – all in that order. Artie was prepared to propose four times in those eight months. I knew this because during each of those four occasions, he would act the same - overly romantic, somewhat corny, and obviously nervous. Also, I happened to notice the repeated appearance of a square shaped bulge that corresponded with such behavior. Subtlety was never his forte. However he stopped himself every time. As our days together drew to a close, I began to think that maybe he was trying to spare me the extra heartbreak if something went wrong – but I tried not to think about that.

Twenty-four hours before his surgery, Artie was once again admitted to the hospital. I prayed for it to be the last time. Most of that critical day was dedicated to blood work and routine check ups to make sure everything was fine and dandy for the less than routine procedure ahead. That is – that was the plan for Artie. I, however, got to sit in the waiting room with a collection of Dorothy Parker's short stories that I borrowed from the library. The author's witty style kept me amused and her tragic tales made my situation seem less extreme.

By the late after-noon, I was permitted upstairs. This time around, Artie was housed in a room on the third floor rather than the second, but if you asked me, I couldn't tell the difference other than the big numbers over the elevator doors. I wondered around the third floor, using the vague instructions administrated to me by one of the nurses on the project until I found my desired destination. The fact that Artie's full name was marked on his door probably helped me more than anything. With a medium sized duffel bag full of his personal items over my shoulder, I invited myself into the sterile smelling room. Compared to the one he stayed in previously, the only difference was the color of the bedding and the presence of a worn down armchair in the corner. He looked recently settled in, sitting back against two puffy bleach white pillows in a light blue hospital gown that hemmed just above his knees.

"Hey there, handsome," I swung, placing the heavy bag on the floor, and sitting on the left edge of his bed.

"Hi," he greeted, flushing lightly.

"All set for surgery tomorrow?" I inquired.

"Healthy as a horse," he shrugged.

"Good," I smiled, cupping his cheek in my hand.

My plan for dinner was to order out for both Artie and I, but that was before I learned that they wanted to keep a close eye on his diet for safety precautions. So instead of sharing a hearty soup and salad from the drive though café down town that I learned about though one of the nurses, we dined on hospital food. Side by side, we sat, and spooned though single-serve cups of lime Jell-O as we leaned into each other's sides.

"Want the last blob?" I asked, holding our almost empty plastic cup at eye level.

"Nah," Artie said, reaching his spoon in and plopping the contents on my bridge of my nose. "But I think you do."

"_Artie!_" I squealed, closing my eyes and scrunching my nose.

He chuckled before wiping my nose with the napkin over his lap. I tilted my head and looked at him from the corners of my eyes before giggling it off and nudging his shoulder.

That night, I milked my stay as long as I could. No one dared to kick me out, but by 9:00pm, two hours after I should have been on my way, I could tell the interns were getting anxious to get their runs down so they could go home. Clinical trial patients were gold for them. From his side, I pried myself away to perch on the edge of his bed after announcing my departure.

"I'll be back tomorrow morning before your surgery," I assured, placing my hand over his.

"Promise?"

"I promise," I nodded. "I love you."

"I love you too, Tina."

I leaned forward and kissed his forehead, "goodnight."

"Goodnight," he sighed.

From there, I forced myself out of the hospital and into the dimly lit parking lot connected to the west wing. Many times I had left him to go home, but seeing his nerves catch up with him made parting so much harder. As I slid my keys into the ignition, I looked back at the hospital and tried to calculate where his room was, but finding the task nearly impossible, I quickly turned away and stopped procrastinating my departure.

Driving home was a blur. I remembered leaving the Ohio State campus, but everything between the hospital and our apartment complex melted into a pot of my fatigue. By the time I got home, it was 11:00pm, and I had to be up early to catch Artie before his surgery. I took the elevator up to our floor, out of habit, and let myself in. Except for the streetlight outside coming though the window, the apartment was pitch black, and I kept it that way as I navigated back to the bedroom. Only then did I turn on a light to find more comfortable clothes and put my pocket book away. On the floor next to Artie's side of the bed was the T-shirt he wore to bed the night before. After stripping down only to my underwear, I pulled the dark oversized T-shirt that smelled strongly of Artie over my head, and let it fall over my thighs.

Before I washed my face and brushed my teeth, I set the arm on my phone for 7:00am sharp. That would give me an hour with Artie before his surgery. Once everything was set for the next day, I crawled into bed, and after a toss and a turn, I fell asleep.

Three hours later, the loud wail of the cordless house phone on Artie's bedside table forced me out of my peaceful slumber. With a groan, I opened one eye to see the hand set glow orange across the bed. I thought about ignoring the caller on the other end, but instead I found myself sleepily dragging myself across Artie's side of the bed to pick up the phone. Lying sloppily over his pillow, brought the phone to my ear

"Hello?" I yawned, rubbing my eyes with my opposite hand.

"T-Tina?" The caller asked in a soft voice.

"_Who are you_?" I dramatically groaned.

"Tina. It's me."

"Art?"

"Mhmm."

"Oh honey, I'm sorry," I said, becoming more awake. "W-what's up?"

"I can't sleep, Tina…I-I'm too scared for tomorrow. _I can't do this_."

"Artie…"

"Tina, I want to come home…p-please come and take me home. I'm freaking out. I don't – I don't want to do this anymore. They-they're gonna…they're gonna butcher my spine…a-and they-they're gonna leave me to…die. I'm going to d-die. I don't want to die…Tina, I-I don't want to die," he panicked.

"Shhhhhh. Artie…Artie, calm down…please."

I heard him gasp for hair a few times before taking a deep and shuttered breath. Oh how I wanted to be with him, to hold him close, and comfort him.

"You're not going to die," I said.

"You don't know that," Artie darkly said.

"Here…stop thinking of the _negative_ things that could happen. Artie, if the surgery works…you could walk again."

"Yeah, okay but…what if they mess up my spinal cord? What if I become a quadriplegic? Huh?"

"I'd still love you, Artie," I said.

"What?" He asked.

"I'd still love you. It'd be tough…but we'd manage."

"You mean that?"

"I do. I mean it ever so much."

It didn't make him any less scared, but it sure made him happier than before. After I got him to calm down and think rationally, we talked on the phone for a few hours until he fell asleep, and once I was positive he was out cold - I quietly hung up the phone, before I too passed out from exhaustion.


	10. Faithfully

**A/N: We're come to the part of this story that I've been waiting to start writing since the beginning - the actual operation and the journey that comes with it. This chapter really did take two weeks to write, and I'm pretty proud of it. On another note, expect another story coming from me this Summer that incorporates how Mike and Tina got together into how Artie and Tina get back together - so look out for that.  
**

* * *

The next morning, after talking to Artie on the phone for at least half the night, I woke up surprisingly refreshed. The sun shined though the airy, long, and opaque cranberry colored curtains, and drew shadowy patterns across my face. It was already looking to be, at the minimum, an okay day – which was reassuring considering the event to come. After a brief stretch, I looked over to Artie's nightstand, where his analog alarm clock radio sat in a ring of dust, to check the time. The night before I had set an alarm on my phone so I would arrive at the hospital promptly, just like I promised, but it had yet to sound. Without my contacts or glasses to aid my slowly degrading eyesight, I squinted at the digitally depicted numbers. My plan was to wake up at 7:00, get dressed, stop for coffee on the way to the hospital, and have enough time to spend an hour with Artie before his surgery…however, the clock read 8:18.

With a gasp, I shot up in bed like a forced back spring. After taking a second, a third, a fourth take at the clock, I jumped out of bed. Standing in the middle of our bedroom, I became confused and lost in emotion and panic. Artie would be expecting me to arrive in forty-two minutes, and I'd be lucky if I made it to kiss him good luck – or possibly goodbye. I raged though my closet and threw on a pair of black leggings and one of Artie's old and worn flannel shirts before arranging my hair into a sloppy ponytail. Jogging between the four rooms of the apartment, I gathered my belongings and took an apple from the fridge to scarf down on the way to the car. In the elevator, I checked my phone to discover that during the night, the battery died – which was the reason for my alarm malfunction. So badly I wanted to call Artie to say I'm sorry and that I love him, but with the lack of both a car-charger and time, a phone call was out of the question. With about five minutes to spare added onto the time it takes to get to Ohio State, I'd be lucky to make it in time to tell him myself.

I drove in complete silence without the radio blasting 'hits from yesterday and today' – I didn't need it, my heart was pounding loud enough in my ears to make a full symphony sound like a trio. My palms were sweaty against the wheel, and my foot heavy on the gas as I drove though Ohio. Anxiety brought out the worst of my driving. I took risks that no person in an oversized wheelchair accessible vehicle should ever attempt, and that I would never try with Artie strapped down in the back, but I didn't care. A promise is a promise, and even though I compromised that promise, I still intended on being there for him…even just for a minute.

Time wise, I was doing _okay_ until I was about twenty miles away from the Ohio State campus, where an array of red, blue, and white lights shined back at me from my rear view mirror. As I reluctantly pulled over, I swear my heart was going to beat out of my chest and limp a bloody trail up to the hospital. I stared at the clock on my dashboard as the officer walked along the white shoulder line up to my car. A minute passed, and I could feel a small part of me dying.

"Ma'am, do you realize that you were-" started the professionally dressed officer in aviator sunglasses with a patch of hair above his upper lip, that resembled a bushy caterpillar, as he came up to my open window.

"_Officer I'm so sorry_," I sobbed, failing my hands around. "I-I woke up late...and…and my boyfriend, my boyfriend Artie is going to have this big and…and crazy procedure done that…that could…could _kill_ him and…and…_please don't arrest me."_

"Ma'am…_ma'am_, calm down...this is uh… just a warning," he said before tipping his cap. "Uh…drive safely."

Another minute passed, and I pulled myself together enough to merge back onto the high way. However, once the police car was out of sight, I continued to push the speed limit for a mile or two until found myself passing a red Subaru. Inside were a woman and a young boy, around the age of eight. I thought of Artie, his accident, and the picture on newsprint of his mother's little maroon car smashed to bits and pieces that he showed me. _I couldn't be that person._

"I-I'm coming, Artie…hang on," I whimpered under my breath, adjusting my speed accordingly.

Normally, if I didn't have Artie with me in the car, I'd park in a normal spot and save a handicapped spot for someone who really needed it, but every second counted. I'd move later. Not even bothering to lock the van, I bolted out of drivers seat and ran mindlessly though the parking lot until I was sloppily scribbling my name on the sign in sheet in the lobby. To save time, I took the stairs and skipped every step for three flights. Once securely on the third floor, I jogged down the hallway to find Artie's room.

I opened the door and leaped inside, letting the heavy wood and glass shut behind me. Except for a half open duffel bag, a framed picture of us, and a notebook on his bed, there wasn't a single trace of Artie. I squeezed my eyes shut before shooting them open again, but the contents of the bland hospital room on the third floor of the Ohio State University Medical Center remained the same. I took a deep breath and tried not to imagine his panic and concern – not to mention his disappointment in me. I was disappointed in me too. My promising words helped him sleep though his anxiety, but they were just lies.

Dragging my feet, I exited his assigned room, and turned left towards the elevators; opposed to turning right and taking the stairs back down to the lobby instead. Maybe I'd order myself a cup of the hospital's overly acidic coffee and read a chunk of my Dorothy Parker book. After all, my life was beginning to mock her tragic tails of fallen romance without the wit. I sighed and prepared myself for the approximately next eight hours of my life devoted to waiting and wishing for Artie's safe return back into my life.

"_Did Tina ever come by, Artie?"_

"_N-no…no, she…she didn't."_

Artie. I jumped to face the forked hallway, and ran down the left prong – the one opposite to where I came from. At the far end, were a group of twelve people dressed in various amounts of blues, greens, and whites around a stretcher-like bed. Dr. Miller, with her red hair contrasting against her purple button down, walked along side the mattress on wheels. The patient was faced away, with only fragments of think brown hair visible under a blue cap.

"Artie? Artie! Stop…please stop," I called, picking up my pace.

Thirteen heads turned to face me, but only one of them smiled. Coming up next to the stretcher, I got down on my knees by Artie's head. Remaining on his back, he pressed his right cheek against the bed to look at me. The short and blue gown that covered his body matched his eyes.

"You came…"

"Artie, I'm so sorry," I panted, cupping his cheek in my hand.

"Y-you promised…you promised you'd be here," Artie choked.

"I know, I know – but I'm here now."

Artie pulled at my arm in an attempt to bring me closer and he whispered, "what if this is our last-"

"Don't think about that," I said, tucking a misfit hair under the elastic of the cap around his skull. "Think…that…the first thing you're going to see when you wake up is me. Okay?"

He took a deep breath, "Okay, Tina."

"Okay," I smiled, bending forward to kiss him. "I love you."

"I love you too," he sniffed.

I stood up and Artie reached his hand over the side and softly held onto my fingertips. "Wait," he said. "There's a notebook on my bed…read the third page – it's for you...it's everything I can't say now."

"Okay, Art," I nodded, biting my lip.

"Good-goodbye," he said squeezing my hand.

"Good _luck_," I corrected

With a half smile, Artie nodded, and I touched his cheek one more time before they took him away. I watched the door shut behind the last technician and stared at the square window laced with rhombuses for a good five minutes before pulling myself away. I almost looked inside, but just in cause he was already cut open, I resisted. Instead, I wondered back around the bend to Artie's room.

The notebook, that had no relevance before, remained on his bed, with an Ohio State pen was lodged in the spiral. The cover was plain, red, and looked almost brand new. I sat down on the edge of the bed and placed the notebook in my lap before counting to the third page.

_Dear Tina,  
This letter is a precaution. I'm writing it in hopes that you'll come flying though the door and I'll have enough time to tell you everything I wanted to before they put me under. First and foremost, I love you. You're my best friend, and the woman I hope to spend the rest of my life with. We've been together steadily since our senior year, and you've made the last six years of my life everything that I've ever wanted. Which is why for the last year and a half, I've been hiding something from you – something oh so special. However, I've decided that you're not getting this something special until I have the physical ability to bear it, and if I die on the way to achieving this, then so be it. Either way, I'll be forever yours…_

I stopped reading, but not by choice. There was still a whole other page blanketed in his penmanship. The tears in my eyes burned like acid and as they fell off my cheeks and onto the paper - the ink diffused

"Damn-it, Artie," I sniffed, wiping my eyes and closing the notebook. "_You better make it through this_."


	11. Breathing Space

**A/N: I really don' t have a good excuse for not updating this except for writers block and laziness. A big thank you for the people, you know who you are, who kept me on track and encouraged me to keep writing this story. It's much appreciated. Enjoy!  
**

* * *

Artie's room was quiet – too quiet. No longer was there the irritable, but at the same time relaxing, sound of a heart monitor beeping along with a pulse. The thought sounded morbid out of context, so I had to remind myself that he was just in another room. I had to tell myself that his heart was beating just the same. The silence left me with the sound of my conscience, which only fed me negativity. I had to get out; I needed people around me to cancel out the pessimism coursing between my ears. Placing the notebook down where I found it, I got up and shuffled through Artie's belongings until I found one the bulky knit sweater he had worn to the hospital a couple days ago. It was a blue plaid cardigan with black and white accents, and large buttons. I smiled at its familiarity and brought it around my shoulders before snaking my arms though the over-sized sleeves. The sweater was more for comfort than anything else – I liked the way it fell around me loosely and smelt vaguely of his cologne. A warm sense of happiness was injected into my system, and I was then able to leave the room with enough confidence to hide the fact that I had just been crying.

I trudged slowly down the stairs taking every step; toe to heal – toe to heal. By the time I was on the main floor, I had let the long sleeves of the sweater fall from around my elbow to hanging limp beyond my fingertips. I slid them back up before anyone else could see otherwise as I circled around to the waiting room.

I took a seat near the back left corner of the room, staying distant from the others. On the right of me was an open seat, where I placed my purse, and on the left was a coffee table that separated the row of chairs I was in. A small plastic plant was placed on the table along with a stack of various magazines. I took one of the magazines and opened it to a random page in my lap; but yet I couldn't read a single word. My mind continued to wander – _where's Artie? How's the surgery going? When will he be out? Will he be okay?_ After ten minutes, I gave up, put the magazine back, and sat back against my chair.

Instead, I began to observe the people around me. Across the room from me was a young Indian man with coarse curly hair reading a thick and well-loved book. A couple seats over from him was a pale and tired looking woman with a baby sized car seat in her lap. Her left leg bounced, but it looked more out of nervousness than to keep the baby calm. Down the row from me was a slouched elderly man that coughed mercilessly every ten or fifteen minutes. People come to hospitals because they're sick, giving life, or dying. Was Artie in a special category of his own? I hoped so, for he was healthy as a horse and incapable of baring a child.

"Tina?"

I scanned the body before me as I picked up my head. It was a woman in salmon pink scrubs with a stethoscope around her neck – I had seen her before, she was one of Artie's nurses. In each of her hands was a paper coffee mug with a plastic lid.

"Hi, I'm Lisa…Artie's one of my patients, we've met before," she said cheerfully.

"I-I remember," I softly responded.

"He asked me to check up on you as I prepped him for surgery," she said. "Coffee?"

"Thank you," I said, taking the warm cup out of her outstretched hand. I inhaled the aroma and let it sink inside me.

"He probably won't be out for another five hours. Even then it'll take a while for the anesthesia to wear off, and they'll probably want to run some tests after he's awake. You should go home and get some rest, Tina."

"I can't – I promised I'd be there when he wakes up," I said, taking a sip of the hot liquid.

"We can call you-"

I shook my head, "thank you…Lisa, but we live far away; I'd rather just stay here. I can't risk it."

"Are you sure? You look awfully tired."

"I'll be alright, but thank you again…for the coffee too."

The nurse nodded sympathetically before returning to her work. I already hurt Artie once that day and I'd never forgive myself if I broke this promise too – especially if something went wrong.

With over five hours to spare, I began to think about what to expect as a result from the surgery. It was experimental, so even the doctors couldn't say for certain. Their hope was that the procedure would successfully give sensory and motion back to Artie's legs. However, the possibilities were endless. The surgery could leave him further paralyzed from a faulty incision, or only restore a fraction of what he lost. Maybe nothing would happen. Maybe I'd lose him. Either way, I knew there would be a long road ahead. Even if the surgery was 100% successful, Artie wouldn't be able to jump out of bed and start walking around. It'd take a lot of physical therapy to regain muscle loss and to teach him how to walk again.

While waiting, I must have had fallen asleep because there was a gap between what I last remembered and a soft voice calling my name and shaking my shoulder. I opened my eyes, and crouched down at my level was Dr. Miller. She looked the same as when she was walking down the hall alongside Artie, which helped me get out of my post-midday nap delusion.

"I-Is he awake?" I sleepily asked.

"No, no, he just got out of surgery."

"Dr. Millar, will he be alright?" I asked, sitting up.

"We won't know his condition until he's awake, but there were no complications and Dr. Chang tells me that surgery went smoothly."

"C-Can I see him?" I nervously asked.

"He won't be awake for a couple hours, Tina."

"I know…I just want to sit with him," I said. "Plus I – promised him that I'd be there when he wakes up."

She took a second to ponder before smiling, "alright, Tina. Follow me."

After gathering my belongings, I followed Dr. Miller down the familiar route to Artie's room. Honestly, I wasn't sure what to expect, but I hoped under sedition – it just looked like he was sleeping. Dr. Millar stayed uncomfortably quiet all the way up and it made me feel nervous…like there was something she wasn't telling me.

"Someone will check up on him in an hour," she said, stopping at Artie's door. I nodded and she held open door for me.

With a smile of gratitude, I cautiously walked into the room and let the door shut behind me before I dared to look forward. There he was. Artie was laid on his right side so that he was facing me and the pulse meter was back to singing its same old song. A clear plastic mask covered his mouth and nose, and a tube extended from the mask to a machine on the opposite side of his bed. The machines movements corresponded with the up and down motion of Artie's chest – it was breathing for him. I bit my lip and took a step closer to the bed. He was laid on top of the covers, was dressed in a new gown, and the cap that concealed his thick and overgrown hair was gone. I sat down on the edge of his bed inches away from his abdomen, being very careful not to disturb his placement.

"Hey there, handsome," I said, cupping his prickly cheek in my hand.

Lisa was the one to check up on Artie at the hour mark Dr. Miller had mentioned. The ventilator had been a precaution on account of the heavy sedative, but she removed it because he was breathing easily on his own on account of the drugs wearing off. Another half an hour went by before Artie began to regain consciousness. I had brought out my book to pass the time, and while I was reading, I felt a gentle tap at my right thigh. I jumped slightly, looked down, and followed the skinny white arm up to a sleepy looking face.

"Artie," I smiled.

"Hey baby," he slurred, keeping his eyes half way shut.

I giggled at his half-conscious state and put down my book to touch his face. Artie leaned his cheek into my hand and brushed his lips against the inside of my palm for a discreet kiss. A smile drew across my face and before I knew it, he blinked himself back asleep. I took my hand away and picked up my book again to make the wait for his full conscious state less tedious. A huge weight was taken off of my shoulders.

Dr. Miller came back for another visit and I had told her that Artie woke up for a minute. She wanted to start poking and prodding him right away, but I told her that I'd come find her the second he woke up again – I may have lied a bit.

I kept reading until a whole hand glided up my thigh. Taking my nose out of my book, I smiled and looked down at him. Artie's beautiful eyes were fully open, but he squinted on account of being nearsighted. On the table next to his bed I exchanged my close to finished book for his glasses, and slid them onto his nose. The corners of his mouth pressed up weekly against his cheeks.

"Hi," I softly said.

Artie blinked slowly, "hey."

"I'm really supposed to get your doctor but-"

"No, stay," he cutely begged, reaching his hand across my lap to hold onto my wrist. "I'll stay awake, I promise."

"_Your arms still work_," I cheerfully muttered to myself. "Okay, I'll stay a little bit."

"W-what was the first thing you said?"

"Nothing," I said, shaking my head with a smile. "How do you feel?"

"My back stings a bit, but it's not excruciating…I'm also a little dizzy."

I nodded and shifted the wrist he held onto so that I could intertwine our fingers. A question about his condition burned in the back of my mind, and as I ran my thumb back and forth over his hand, I thought about how to word it correctly.

"Do you…feel anything – new?" I asked, avoiding direct eye contact.

"I-I don't know," he answered.

"Can I touch you?"

"Go for it."

Turning slightly at the waist, I faced the lower part of his body. His pale and bone thin legs were scattered across the length of the bed. Biting my lip, I placed my hand firmly above his knee. "C-can you feel me?"

"I think so…I don't know, Tee."

I personally thought it was obvious if you could feel something or not. Either he could feel me and didn't know what he was supposed to feel or he was imagining that he could feel me because he wanted to so badly. I looked down at his leg – there was only one way to find out. Between two fingers, I grasped a fine and light brown hair before quickly pulling my hand away. Artie's whole leg twitched and I smiled widely.

"_Tina,_ what was that for! I'm out of surgery two hours and-"

"Artie!"

"_What?"_

"You can feel."


	12. Muffin Top

**A/N: I had the worst writers block with the beginning of this. It just hard to be - right. Yeah. I'm actually on vacation, which oddly helped. Until next time. Enjoy and thank you for reading.  
**

* * *

I watched Artie's face light up as he came to terms with his newfound abilities. It was like the planets were aligned in his favor and he didn't have a single care in the world. At the same time, he was speechless and I stayed quiet myself as his lips twisted and twitched for the right words to say. Instead, I adjusted his hand in mine and gave it a supporting squeeze.

"This can't be real…it must be the drugs," he finally said to break the silence.

"It's real, Artie," I smiled, "I promise, it's real."

"T-touch me again"

After a brief glance over my shoulder, I reached my arm back and curved the attached hand around the bare surface of his upper thigh – shallowly pressing my black varnished fingernails into his skin. Without thinking about it, I started grazing my thumb back and forth. The hairs underneath shifted with every stroke. I looked back to Artie, but his eyes were closed. For a second, I thought he had fallen back asleep, but then he opened his mouth to talk.

"I feel you. I-I feel your hand," he grinned, continuing to keep his eyes closed.

Never in my life since I met Artie Abrams did I ever think I'd hear those words come out of his mouth. I smiled and adjusted myself slightly to run my hand up and down his leg between his kneecap and where the hospital gown ended.

"You're moving your hand!"

"Mhmm," I said, reaching my hand behind his knee. Using my fingernails, I lightly scratched at the warm flesh.

"_Tina!_ That tickles," Artie giggled, jerking his knee away.

I chuckled to myself and returned my hand to his thigh. He playfully scowled at me and crossed his arms over his chest as if I was taking advantage of him while hospitalized. I assured myself that I wasn't – I just wanted to see if he was ticklish or not. It probably wasn't the most responsible or mature thing to do on account that he's in post-op for a pretty risky procedure, Dr. Millar certainly wouldn't approve, but I think Artie secretly enjoyed it on account of being able to feel the sensation. I cheekily grinned at Artie long enough for his shield to fall, his face to lighten up, and his arms to plop back down onto the surface of the bed.

Suddenly the door opened, which interrupted the peaceful silence between Artie and me, and in walked Dr. Miller. She gave me a brief and displeased look on account of my earlier promise to fetch her upon Artie's arousal, but quickly focused her attention to her living and breathing science experiment with a whole new attitude. Not long after, I was asked to leave for a check-up and thorough analysis of the extent of the surgeries success. I kissed his forehead before leaving and made a promise to return if I was allowed to. Ohio State's times for visiting were a lot stricter than the ones at Lima General.

I went back downstairs to the waiting room with an unclear notion of how long I'd be there. Potentially having more time with Artie was just about my only incentive to sit longer in the depressing room filled with anxious people in questionable situation. I returned to my previous chair and took out my phone for the second time that day. My first instinct was to call Artie's family, and maybe even my own, to tell them that the operation was a success and that he's alive and well. But also I felt the need to share the recent events with our friends – no not the work based I-have-to-get-along-with-you friends, but the ones we knew and loved in high school. Granted, it's been years since either Artie or I had been in contact with many of our Glee club members, but it seemed almost wrong to keep them out of the loop. Plus, what would they think when a reunion came around and Artie Abrams, the boy they befriended paralyzed from the waist down, was walking. Maybe I'd send a mass E-mail or something the next time I had access to a computer and the time to explain the whole shenanigan. I'd be nice to hear from them anyways.

After planning out what to say, I did go on to call Artie's family. His mother picked up, as I had hoped, and I explained that day's events – leaving out, of course, how I nearly caused at least three car accidents. She was thrilled that he made it out okay, and completely enchanted by the fact that the procedure that we both doubted was successful. I told her how magical it was when I cupped my hand around his leg and he could tell me what I was doing with my fingers without even looking. Because we were on the phone, I couldn't say for sure, but I was almost certain that she was crying, or at least close to, on the other end.

Catherine and I talked for at least an hour before our conversation was cut short by Dr. Miller telling me that I could go up to see Artie again and that he's doing better than expected. Before hanging up, I promised that I'd take her up with me to see her son sometime that week. I felt more confident in the promise keeping department.

Artie was moved into a sitting position with many soft pillows supporting his back. A half-eaten cup of the hospitals infamous lime Jell-O sat and a water bottle sat on a flat blue tray in his lap. He looked content which made me feel better about the wires and tubes sticking out of him in every which way.

"Hey look!" he said upon my arrival after a spoonful of the giggly substance. "It's the love of my life."

"You're still drugged, aren't you?" I asked placing my bag down.

"Morphine's one hell of a drug."

"Uh-huh," I said with a slow roll of my eyes.

"Come here, muffin top," he requested, putting the tray aside and patting the space next to his hip.

"Muffin top? Really?" I asked, scrunching my face.

"Yeah. Muffin top…you know – the best part of a muffin?"

"Ohh, I get it."

"What'd you think I meant?"

"Never mind. How are you feeling?" I quickly asked, sitting down on the side of his bed.

"I'm having a hard time getting used to this," Artie said, looking down at his feet and wiggling his toes.

"Your…toes?"

"Everything," he said.

"Well I'm still the same," I said swinging my legs up onto the bed and sitting back against the pillows with Artie.

"You're sure you don't love me more now that my legs work?

"I love you just as always," I said, nudging under his arm and cuddling into his side.

I closed my eyes and brought an arm around his front, but instead of his strong stomach, I felt something hard and smooth against my forearm. I opened my eyes and explored the surface with my hand until I found his skin again.

"It's a brace," Artie said, answering my question before I even asked it. "It's to keep my back straight while my spinal cord heals"

"It looks awfully uncomfortable," I said.

"It is," he confessed.

I pouted out of remorse and snuggled deeper into his side. Out of habit, I brought my top leg up and over his lap, and settled my calf and foot between his legs. He seemed shocked at first, and didn't know what to think of what I was doing, but then his body relaxed, or at least as much as it could with the brace, and he brought his arms around me.

"You know, your feet are kind of cold," he said.

"Oh, I'm sorry…I forgot you could…I can move if you're uncomfortable," I said.

"No, no," he said, holding me tighter with a smile. "It's a nice feeling."


	13. Dancer

**A/N: Hi! Nothing else to say up here rather than - check out my new multi-chapter fic _Handicamp_ on my page. It's basically my...I'm going to fix Artie and Tina because RIB is taking too long. Yeah. So enjoy and thanks for reading.  
**

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The next morning, Artie had his first physical therapy session at the crack of dawn, so I was able to take my time with waking up and getting ready to see him. I took a shower, put on a light coat of make-up, and loosely curled the ends of my hair before getting dressed. A great improvement from yesterday's ensemble, but Artie probably didn't notice, on account of the morphine, either way. I skipped breakfast with a plan of stopping at my favorite café to pick up a bag of peach muffins for Artie and me to share at the hospital, and a peppermint latte for myself. However, I still had time to spare, so I turned on our computer and started at the E-mail I told myself that I was going to write to our high school friends about Artie's miraculous recovery. I stared at the blank document; addressed to everyone I had contact information for, for about fifteen minutes before deciding that it was time to go. How do you tell people, some you've been in contact with – some not, that the paraplegic they grew up with could now wiggle his toes?

I continued to think about the E-mail as I drove over to Ohio State and sipped my latte. It'd be important to give context – tell them about the clinical trial and any other relevant information so I don't have to respond to five E-mails in one day describing now everything came to be. I also thought about waiting until we knew the complete prognosis of his abilities, but that was pessimistic thinking, and I was done thinking about that way on the subject. Maybe, after the drive back and glass of wine I'd be able to at least start, if not complete, the statement.

By the time I got to the hospital, I had finished my drink, but enough was left in the cup to seep into the treated cardboard and make our car smell vaguely of overly sweet peppermint. I also picked at one of the muffins to keep me focused on the road and not on my gurgling stomach, so as I exited the car, I cleared muffin bits off my lap. On account of not having Artie with me and not being in a rush, I parked in a normal spot, and walked a compromised distance from our car to the hospital. I then signed in as a visitor and took the elevator up to see Artie.

"Hey there," I cheerfully greeted as I let the door shut behind me.

"Hi."

"I brought you breakfast," I said, holding up the paper bag before setting it on his bedside table.

"Thanks."

"Hey, what's up?" I asked, furrowing my brow as I sat on the edge of the bed in the curve of his body.

Artie sighed and looked down before shifting his gaze back up to me, "It turns out…that I might never actually walk again."

"_What_?"

"You heard me."

"Yes, yes, I heard you but who – how – _why_? Your legs work, I-I've seen them work."

"My legs aren't the problem. It's too soon to tell whether it's a signal reception issue or from my lack of muscle mass, but I have a hard time controlling my ankles," he said, looking down at his feet.

"Artie, I still don't understand."

"If one of my ankles gives out while I'm standing…I could fall, twist my back, and ruin the work done on my spine," he said, with glimmers of fear in his eyes.

"Oh."

I remembered Dr. Millar's warning that although the new tissue is identical to the rest, it's only half as strong – which is why Artie was in that big, bulky brace. The plan was to, once his body healed; feed the new cells steroids though a needle to make them less fragile, but even then Artie would have to be careful.

"But that's no reason to give up, Artie," I added after a moment of silence.

"I'd rather never walk again and keep the sensation," he admitted.

"Sweetie, it's only day two," I said, smoothing down his bed head. "You're going to get stronger."

"What if I don't?" Artie whimpered.

"We've spent the last year preparing for this Artie, don't give up on me now."

His shoulders shrugged with a short sigh before he looked up at me and nodded. I smiled and continued to run my fingers though his think hair until it looked kept. Then I took my arm back and slouched comfortably into the mattress. An idea ran though my head of a way to boost his confidence in the program, get him motivated, and possibly help with his strength. However, it would be going down a trail that once led to a dead end, and I didn't want his feelings of failure to resurface. I looked away from Artie and down at the white tile floor beneath us, wording what to say in my head, before picking my head up and wetting my lips.

"I'm going to teach you how to tap dance."

"Excuse me?" Artie questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. I'm going to give you tap lessons."

"Tina, I can't even stand up with a _walker_, how do you expect me to dance?" He asked, with a slight voice crack.

"I'll teach you the steps – you can do them off the edge of the bed. The metal in the shoes will help your muscles."

"Tee, I get enough of that stuff in therapy," he said.

"I won't push you, Artie. It'll be fun, I promise," I said almost pleadingly. "Just like old times."

"But I get to be your dance partner this time, right?"

"Artie, you were always my dance partner," I smiled.

He probably didn't know that I kept the tap shoes we bought together for him our freshman year of high school. Come to think of it, I wasn't sure why I kept them in the first place until that day - Artie was simply born to dance.


	14. Heartbeat

**A/N: Hey! Remember me? I got inspiration to write this story again after rereading it. I really want to finish this one. I also really want to start writing again because I miss it. Thanks for baring with me and my terrible update schedule.**

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When I went to sleep that night, I had three messages in my inbox; one from my back and forth with Artie's mother about his constantly changing condition, and two from retail stores offering coupons that I intended on using. That was before I sent a lengthy E-mail to nine people, people I haven't talked to in years, about Artie. In return: a full mailbox. Shock, concern, excitement, and more than I could ever ask for from people I lost contact with years ago. I sat down and read every single word until I cried; tears were falling down my face and the hand over my mouth caught the waterfall before it plummeted onto Artie's MacBook. What Quinn, Puck, Finn, Kurt, Santana, Brittany, Mercedes, or even Rachel had to say wasn't particularly emotional or critical, but to know that so many people were behind us – it made me feel okay for the first time in weeks. People were praying for us, praying for him to walk again. Now, I'd never tell him that, but I'd take all the help we could get.

I responded in the hospital lounge while drinking stale coffee and picking at an onion bagel. Promises of pictures, videos, and an eventual webcam conference spilled from my fingertips. It was even hard for me to believe that Artie Abrams L4 could wiggle his toes. And it was only week one.

The clock in the lower right hand corner of the screen flicked to 2:30. Artie would be out of his daily physical therapy. That damn therapist saw him more than I did. I missed him. I missed making dinner for two, sharing a bed, and feeling less guilty when a single bottle of wine is gone in a day. All I wanted to do was take him home, but I knew that was out of the question. I closed the laptop, tucked it under my arm, and began my uneventful trek upstairs

"Right on time," Artie grinned as I pushed the door with my shoulder.

"My time with you is limited," I said, sitting on the edge of his bed and kissing his cheek. "I wouldn't waste a second."

He smiled up at me before glancing down by my side, "what's that?"

"Your laptop," I said placing the computer on his nightstand.

"No, not that."

I look at the box in my other hand. I almost forgot about its relevance and contents. "Your tap shoes"

"Oh."

I placed the box next to be on the bed and opened it up. Inside a dusty, but perfect, pair of black leather dance shoes. "Wanna try them out?"

"I-I don't know, Tee. I'm really drained from therapy," he sighed.

"Okay," I said, patting his thigh. "But at least try them on for me? See if they still fit?"

"Alright. But you're helping me up again."

I chucked, "okay, Artie."

From his side, Artie began to push his torso up with his arms before aiding his legs over the side of the bed. For the most part, he could move his legs on his own, but I think he still couldn't believe it. Artie slowly pushed himself up and I brought an arm around him for support; his back was weak. Suddenly, with a whimper, he collapsed in my arms. My heart rate skyrocketed and for a second I stopped breathing before noticing my hand in the middle of his back over the long incision that held his skin together.

I snapped my hand away, "Oh God, Artie, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

He nodded against my shoulder. I sank into the bed remembering the time I banged up with lower lip, how I needed stitches, and how much it hurt when something even remotely grazed it. The difference is that I needed three, and Artie had over fifty down the center of his back. I rubbed his forearm soothingly until he began to rise away from my side.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, gently kissing the side of his head.

"My morphine's wearing off, that's all," he said, sitting up fully. "Now lace those babies on me."

"No, maybe you should rest. We'll take it easy today."

Without argue, he lowered himself back down to the bed and wrapped one of his arms around his pillow. My guess was that a new dose of medicine was kicking in, for his eyes began to get heavy. With a soft grin, I stroked his prickly cheek before standing up to let him sleep.

"Hey, no," he slurred, reaching an arm out and lacing his fingers with mine. "Lay with me."

"Oh, Artie, no…"

"Lay with me."

I bit my lip, but eventually nodded. Limb by limb, Artie shifted to the right, and I shortly followed; my movements stale and carefully thought out. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him again. Once I was settled on my back with my ankles crossed at the foot of the bed, Artie snuggled into my side like a kitten desperate for attention. I looked down at the heavy head on my shoulder and a smile formed across my lips.

"I miss you," he signed, looking up at me with his pools of blues.

My smile got a little sadder, "I miss you too."

"I can kind of almost stand up," he said proudly. "Maybe I can come home soon."

"Oh Artie…"

"Only with help, though," he sighed. "It's not that impressive."

"Not that impressive? Artie, that's amazing, that's – I'm so proud of you," I beamed, rolling onto my side of face him and cupping his face between my palms. His cheeks pressed up against my hands as he grinned. Tilting my head I leaned forward and brushed my lips against his. Magic, I still felt it. I still do.

Closing my eyes, I scooted down the bed, folded my arms in half, and cuddled into his chest. It still wasn't just him, a brace still separated us, but it felt thinner and softer than before. He was getting better, stronger. I sighed happily and stretched my legs forward.

"W-what are you doing, Tee?"

I stopped what I was doing and opened my eyes to assess. My legs were tangled with his, something he wasn't used you. Something I wasn't used to.

"My feet get cold," I shrugged. "It's something I've always done."

"News to me," Artie said.

"I can move…"

"No, I – I kind of like it. I really like it. I can feel your legs and I…where's your foot going?"

I giggled, "Just kidding, sweetie."

"I didn't say stop."

I started laughing into his chest. Truthfully, I didn't want to stop. This is why I needed him home.

"Don't leave tonight," he sweetly requested.

"What?"

"Don't leave. Don't go home. Stay here with me."

"Artie, you know the rules."

"Fall asleep with me."

"Okay," I sighed.

The best he could, Artie wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer to his chest. Even though the brace, I could hear his heartbeat – his real heartbeat, not the artificial pulse from the monitor. I let it sing me to sleep. My last thought before falling into slumber was the hope that I wouldn't have to be disturbed. Home would have to wait – if you could even call it home – because my heart was there with him.


End file.
